Over the years I’ve voiced my opinions concerning people obsessed with the supernatural and occult. Unfortunately, I haven’t always been kind in my criticisms and opinions about them. I’ve never been a believer of these superstitions like black cats walking in front of me or walking under a ladder. I always thought them silly, without basis in fact, just superstitious nonsense passed down from generations who apparently didn’t have a clue either. I hate to admit it, but I may have to eat my words.
While I totally scoff at almost everything superstitious, I discovered quite by accident that I’ve been paying closer attention to one superstition over the years and didn’t realize it. My obsession is and has been the number three. For most of my life I considered that my lucky number and if something occurred where I had to make choices and the number three was involved, I always picked number three. I don’t know why, it wasn’t planned, and I really didn’t realize the extent of the human races’ obsession with that number until now. So, I decided to do a little more research which opened my eyes even further. Here’s my homage to the number 3.
THE GENIE GAVE ME THREE WISHES
Three is the average number of seconds visitors to an Art gallery spent in front of each painting. Triceratops means three horned faces. Three goals are a hat trick. A triathlon is a three-part swim, run, and cycle competition. Any national flag made of three bands of color is a tricolor. The Three Musketeers in the novel by Alexander Dumas’s are Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. Dante’s Divine Comedy is structured around the number three, alluding to the holy Trinity. That book has three parts; Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso – each divided into 33 cantos in terza rima (three-line stanzas).
In Greek mythology, the three Fates control birth, life, and death; the three Furies upheld sacred laws; and the three Graces bestowed beauty and charm. The ancient Egyptians, Babylonians, Greeks, and Romans all had Trinity’s of God’s. Jupiter’s symbol is a three-forked bolt of lightning, Neptune’s a three-pronged trident, and Pluto’s, a three headed dog. Hindus worship the trinity of Brahma, the Creator; Vishnu, the Perseverer; and Shiva, the Destroyer.
In Christianity, Christ represents one third of the Holy Trinity (Father, Son, Holy Ghost); he was visited by three wiseman at his birth; 33 years later, after Judas betrayed him for 30 pieces of silver and Peter denied him three times, he was crucified at 3 PM and rose from the dead three days later.
Time is threefold: past, present, and future. Pythagoras called three the perfect number, denoting beginning, middle, and end. The strongest shape is a triangle. The three states of matter are solid, liquid, and gas. Earth is the third planet from the sun. White light is made from three primary colors: red, blue, and green. The three primary colors of pigment are red, yellow, and blue, whose totality is black.
I suspect that all of the number three’s I listed above are only a small sampling of the use of the number three. Over the course of my existence, I’ve been subconsciously pelted with the number three in virtually every phase of my life. How could I not have three as my favorite number? Brainwashing at its absolute best.
I’ve never been one to have an overabundance of Christmas spirit. I lost most of it back in 1963 when, while in college, I worked part time on a Christmas tree farm in Edinboro, Pennsylvania. After cutting, trimming, bundling, and loading close to 5000 trees onto trucks, I’d had enough. Took me three weeks to get all of the sap and pine smell off my body and out of my clothing. Every time I smell pine scent, it gives me flashbacks to that tree farm. But never let it be said that my issues with Christmas would keep me from supplying you with some holiday spirit in the form of Christmas trivia. Enjoy. . .
Bing Crosby’s” White Christmas” was released in 1942 and is considered to be the best-selling Christmas song of all time.
In Greek, X means Christ; that is where the word “Xmas” originated.
Christmas Clubs, savings accounts in which a person deposits a fixed amount of money regularly to be used at Christmas for shopping, came about in 1905.
America’s official national Christmas tree is located in Kings Canyon National Park in California. The tree, a giant sequoia is called the “General Grant Tree”, and is over 300 feet high. It was made the official Christmas tree by Congress in 1925.
An average household in America will mail out 28 Christmas cards each year.
California, Oregon, Michigan, Washington, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, and North Carolina are the top Christmas tree producing states. Oregon is the leading producer of Christmas trees harvesting approximately 8.6 million a year.
Christmas caroling began as an old English custom cold “Wassailing” – toasting neighbors to a long and healthy life.
In an effort to solicit cash to pay for a charity Christmas dinner in 1891, a large “crab pot” was set down on a San Francisco street corner, becoming the first Salvation Army collection kettle.
During the Christmas/Hanukkah season, more than 1.7 6 billion candy canes will be made.
Hallmark introduced its first Christmas cards in 1915, five years after the founding of the company.
In Syria, Christmas gifts are distributed by one of the wise men’s camels. The gift-giving camel is said to have been the smallest one in the Wise Men’s caravan.
In 1907, Oklahoma became the last US state to declare Christmas a legal holiday.
Mistletoe, a traditional Christmas symbol, was once revered by the early Britons. It was so sacred that it had to be cut with a golden sickle.
I thought I would get this semi-political post on its way before the drumbeat of Christmas and New Year’s drowns out almost everything until January. I’ve consistently had very few nice things to say about the government and its politicians. I once leaned to the political right but in truth it’s gotten to the point where you really can’t tell the political parties apart. Most people would rather be known as Independents rather than Republican or Democrat. As I’m a fan of the English language I decided that maybe I should make an attempt to soften my rhetoric a little. So, in the future my new term for these people will be “fools”, who are being “foolish”, and accomplishing nothing but “foolishness”.
Dictionary Definition
fool’ish
Resulting from poor showing a lack of sense; ill considered; unwise: a foolish action, a foolish speech.
Lacking forethought or caution.Trifling, insignificant, or paltry.
It sounds pretty tame to me and maybe it’s too tame. I’m afraid that at times I won’t be able to control my anger and an F-bomb or two may make an appearance. Oh well, I’m only human and “to err is human, to forgive divine” after all. I’m still working hard on reaching the “divine” stage. Every expert or intellectual feels a certain responsibility to make some grand quote on the term “foolish” and one or two are actually worth repeating. Here are few I’ve found but I make no guarantees as to their worth.
“A foolish man tells a woman to stop talking, but a wise man tells her that her mouth is extremely beautiful when her lips are closed.”
“You may fool all the people some of the time, you can even fool some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.” Abraham Lincoln
“You can educate a fool, but you cannot make him think “. The Talmad
And my all-time favorite:
“He who is born a fool is never cured.” Proverbs
“Any fool can make a rule, and any fool will mind.” Henry David Thoreau
“When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microscopically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap.” Cynthia Heimel
“By the time the fool has learned the game, the players have dispersed.” African Proverb
“A fool may be known by six things: anger, without cause; speech, without profit; change, without progress; inquiry, without object; putting trust in a stranger, and mistaking foes for friends.” Arabian Proverb
IT IS BETTER TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH CLOSED AND LET PEOPLE THINK YOU A FOOL
A lot of my time when I’m working on this blog, I’m listening to many of the old classic oldies from the mid-50s through the mid-70s. I have hundreds of albums and CDs of that period, but I truly love the groups that came out of the 1950’s the most. As far as I’m concerned, they created rock ‘n roll. Today I initiated my musical time-travel machine and spent an hour back in the 1960’s listening to a long list of songs by the Platters. They areone of those groups that mean quite a lot to me.
As I sat here this afternoon, I was thinking back to the last time I blogged about The Platters, in June of 2006. I was memorializing the death of the last of the group, Herb Reed. I’ve been a faithful listener of their music for most of my life and actually had the good fortune and pleasure of seeing them perform live at a dance club in western Pennsylvania when I was 17 years old. I found Herb’s death especially poignant since he was the actual founder of The Platters. They started in Los Angeles in 1953 winning amateur talent shows and performing nights and weekends up and down the California coast. Their music remains sweet and as smooth as honey. Even though they’re all gone now, they’ll never really be gone for me. Their music will live forever as it should, it’s the best.
Their music also ties me directly to my paternal grandfather. Many an afternoon was spent with him watching an old black and white, 5″, TV while he sat in his favorite chair, smoking his favorite cigars, and telling me stories of his childhood. Oddly enough his fancy humidor where he stored his precious cigars played “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” every time he opened it. I hear that song and Wham! . . . I can smell those cigars, hear those stories, and think about my favorite grandfather. That’s music working its special magic.
Jack woke up with a huge hangover after attending his company’s Christmas party. He didn’t even remember how he’d gotten home from the party. As bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he’d done anything wrong.
He forced himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he saw was a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next to them, a single red rose! Jack sat up and saw his clothing in front of him, all clean and pressed. He looked around the room and saw that it was in perfect order, spotlessly clean. So was the rest of the house.
He took the aspirins, and cringed when he saw a huge black eye staring back at him in the bathroom mirror. Then he noticed a note hanging on the corner of the mirror written in red with little hearts on it and a kiss mark from his wife in lipstick: “Honey, breakfast is on the stove. I left early to get groceries to make you your favourite dinner tonight. I love you, darling!” He stumbled to the kitchen and sure enough, there was hot breakfast, steaming hot coffee and the morning newspaper. His son was also at the table, eating. Jack asked, “Son, what happened last night?” “Well Dad, you came home after 3 A.M from the Christmas party, drunk and out of your mind. You fell over the coffee table and broke it, then you puked in the hallway, and got that black eye when you ran into the door.” Confused, he asked his son, “So, why is everything in such perfect order and so clean? I have a fresh red rose, and breakfast is on the table waiting for me. What the hell?”
His son replied, “Oh THAT! Mom dragged you to the bathroom to clean you up last night, and when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed, “Leave me alone bitch, I’m married!'”
I’m about to write a short story which is a multilevel PSA (Public Service Announcement). I’ll explain what that means in a few minutes but first I wanted to mention a video I watched on Facebook a few days ago. It was a home video taken by Taylor Swift’s mother a short while after she’d had her wisdom teeth removed. She was a bit loopy, confused, and hysterically funny. I laughed along with everyone else until I sat down and started thinking about when I had my wisdom teeth removed. I’ve written about it in the past and it’s still funny now, but it wasn’t funny then as you’ll see.
It’s March of 1974, Richard Nixon resigned the presidency, gas is $.55 a gallon, and I’m getting my damn wisdom teeth removed. I’m a 28-year-old police officer who was being driven to the dentist by his wife anticipating I wouldn’t be able to drive home. The dentist puts me in the chair, fills me with an anesthesia, and removes the wisdom teeth. I woke up a short time later in a side room and had no idea who or where I was. I’m force-fed a painkiller that in company with the residual anesthesia left me a damn zombie. I’m loaded into my car and driven a short distance to a local drugstore to pick up my painkiller prescription and ordered by my wife to stay in the car.
It’s March and it’s cold so I turn on the heater, close the windows, and relax. But only for a moment. Being the conscientious police officer I was, I remembered that I’d left my loaded pistol in the glove compartment. I removed the pistol, popped out the magazine, and placed it in my pocket. So far, so good. Out of habit I took the unloaded weapon and aimed it casually at the end of my foot and dry fired. Oops, I forgot about the round in the chamber and being a relatively good shot, I hit what I aimed at. The bullet punched a neat round hole through the toe of my shoe, removed a small crescent shaped chunk from the side of my big toe, on through the floor of the car, hitting the pavement and ricocheting into the passenger side tire.
I was hammered and stunned all at the same time. The car was filled with smoke, I couldn’t hear a thing and found myself laughing hysterically. In fact, the sound of the shot in the car deafened me for about 15 minutes. My wife arrived, opened the door, and four or five F-bombs later finally asked me if my foot was okay. Of course, her first priority was the tire, seeing as it was her car.
The moral of the story is simple. First never, ever, handle a gun while “stoned” with legal or illegal drugs. Secondly, never operate machinery, vehicles, or small pistols while taking painkillers, and thirdly, never trust a smiling dentist or a soon-to-be ex-wife. That’s my tale of woe and my admission to sheer stupidity. I’m hanging my head in shame even remembering it again. It sounds just as stupid now as it did then. What was I thinking? I obviously wasn’t.
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